


lane closed

by Zekkass



Series: Cliffjumper Collared [2]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Alien Biology, Collars, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Pain, Post-Canon, Prison Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-07 12:23:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14080878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zekkass/pseuds/Zekkass
Summary: Cliffjumper Prime's bark is worse than his bite.(or, Cliffjumper visits Shockwave in prison)





	lane closed

**Author's Note:**

> Written for arco, thank you!
> 
> They asked for a sequel to [don't stop](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8974045), with Cliffjumper dealing with Shockwave while he's in prison, with smut. Enjoy!

It takes weeks before Cliffjumper Prime can extricate himself from the gigantic mess Longarm, former Prime had left him. Mountains and mountains of files to check, cases to reopen, suspects to reinterrogate.

There are a multitude of things Cliffjumper hates about Longarm, too many to list before he snaps and breaks whatever he's listing on, but right now the highest item on that list is the sheer amount of hellish work Longarm's left behind.

Having a traitor oversee literally everything about the Cybertronian Intelligence Agency means that literally everything needs to be rechecked.

He hasn't been able to recharge properly since he got promoted. There's just too much to _do._

His collar is a constant weight against his neck, has been since Shockwave exposed himself. He still doesn't know what it does, if it's explosive or if it prevents him from speaking. It hasn't done anything to him, even after Shockwave was brought backt to Cybertron in cuffs.

There's not a chance he'll talk to a medic about it. He handles his own repairs, and with Longarm gone he doesn't have anyone to share fantasies with.

They catch up with him while he's on a refueling break.

The dispenser sputters when he slaps the activation panel, spits out red fuel before filtering through the additives the last mech had used. Shoddy design, or a failing unit, but the rich red of fuel doesn't dissipate into the fuel. He has to stare at it as the cube fills. When the liquid settles, it's congealed into a spiral, and he has to stop himself from breaking the cube outright.

That _jewel_ he'd been so fixated on hadn't been decoration, but an optic.

He doesn't even know if Longarm's optics had been real or not.

Cliffjumper throws the fuel out - waste - and pours himself a new cube.

No one's told him to visit Shockwave, and for good reason: he's dangerous, smart, and anything he says could be a lie. There's no point to interrogating him. There's even less of a point to keeping him alive. Not that it's Cliffjumper's decision if he lives or dies - that authority rests with the Magnus.

Why bother visiting the Stockades? Why risk removing Shockwave from his cell for a personal interrogation?

By the time Cliffjumper gets back to his office he's made up his mind.

//

Diversions are welcome at this stage of the game. Megatron's plans are ongoing, and it's only a matter of time until they're free, but in the meantime Shockwave's patience wears thin: their jailers have seen fit to grant them cells in proximity, that allow conversation.

Monitored conversation, with quick responses if they try to plan anything, so their jailers aren't complete morons.

He takes the opportunity to remember face-plates as he's led through the prison, noting old allies and foes who had the misfortune to land here. It's irony that there are more Deceptions gathered here in this prison than there have been in one place in thousands of years: Megatron's orders to scatter had been effective.

Ah, if only the invasion had worked. They would have dwarfed this meager gathering in triumph.

At least the majority of Decepticon forces were yet free.

He's led into a small dark room, threatened, and left alone. There's a table in the center of the room, sized for someone _much_ smaller than him.

There's a line marked on the wall, and no chair on his side of the room. The implication is that he's meant to kneel or sit if he wants to be on the same level as his interrogator.

When the door opens he's standing.

"Cliffjumper!"

How pleasant it is to see his favorite Autobot! The glare is so familiar he feels a reflexive urge to smile. That was the best way to drive Cliffjumper into a furious rage - friendliness, manners, and the dopiest smile he could coax Longarm's face-plates to make. So little for such a potent reaction.

"Shockwave," Cliffjumper says, voice tight as he takes his seat at the table. He's holding a datapad, which he sets to the side.

His collar pulses.

It was designed to be a subtle addition to Cliffjumper's frame, a pleasing decoration that any mech would assume Cliffjumper chose for himself. The pulse was infrequent enough to be distracting or dangerous, easily covered if Cliffjumper needed to go into the field.

Someday he might tell Cliffjumper what it actually does.

Shockwave comes up to the very edge of his cage, resting two claws on the table.

"Is this a social call?"

"You're going to answer my questions," Cliffjumper says. His glare is fixed on Shockwave's optic.

"Ask away," Shockwave says.

 _"Why_ did you give me Blurr and ask me to _dispose_ of him?"

Oh, they're starting with that? Shockwave flicks his antlers, enjoying how Cliffjumper's fingers are curled. Little fists, ready to strike.

"Who else could I give him to? It's a shame he came when he did - he's too intriguing to destroy. I'm sure you agree with me - when will he be reframed?"

"We are not _toys!"_

Shockwave laughs, reaching across the barrier - nothing happens, how pleasing - to tap a claw against one of Cliffjumper's horns, making him twitch before he shoves it away.

"You're correct," he says. "You're so much more than that. Have you missed me?"

"If you transform now I will kill you," Cliffjumper says with that perfect intensity that only manifests when he's so angry he can control himself.

"I know," Shockwave says. "All you need to do is ask, and I will."

The control slips: "That's not what I - frag you, I'm not doing this!" He stands up, hands on the table when Shockwave moves, lifting him with both servos and holding him close to his chest. A pede clangs against his plating, and Shockwave resists the urge to laugh; it would be too much for his prey's self-control and Cliffjumper would end this by shouting until they were separated.

That _is_ part of the appeal of his favorite minibot: how powerless Cliffjumper is, except in what he could do, if he were willing to bring others into their little game.

Even now, in what might be his weakest position yet - unarmed, wearing a pair of stasis cuffs, moments away from being locked into solitary - Cliffjumper simply won't stop him.

"I have a question of my own," Shockwave says as Cliffjumper braces his pedes on his chest. "Did you modify your valve at all? Will I fit inside of you?"

"Like you care!"

The pulse moves faster, and Shockwave leans his helm down, focusing on Cliffjumper's optics.

"I want you to return as many times as you want," Shockwave says, one claw moving over Cliffjumper's aft. "It wouldn't do to damage you."

"Frag you," Cliffjumper says. His optics blaze, and he moves - 

Shockwave rears his head back, just in time to evade a headbutt that might have cracked his optic.

"Is that an answer?"

"Frag no! And no, I haven't! I'm not sick, like you."

"A pity," Shockwave says, and he begins to turn Cliffjumper around.

"What did you do to your cuffs?" Cliffjumper asks, and it's a sign of how much he trusts him that he's no longer squirming.

"Nothing," Shockwave says. "They're working. I simply don't care to advertise how little they affect me. Open your panels."

A click signals Cliffjumper's submission, and Shockwave opens up his own panels, pressurizing his spike and enjoying the sound of Cliffjumper's fans picking up speed. One of the positions he'd most enjoyed during their sessions had involved being spiked from behind while he was held securely. This isn't the same, but it's enough for Cliffjumper to put himself on display.

A new benefit: he can simply lean forward slightly and see Cliffjumper's front. There's his open valve, his spike, his flashing optics.

"I hate this!"

"I know," Shockwave says, lowering Cliffjumper down until he's straddling his spike. It's a pleasant contact, the buzz of Cliffjumper's charge setting off signals that multiply whenever Cliffjumper squirms. "Touch me?"

Cliffjumper hisses as he pushes his thighs together, rubbing himself against his spike. "No."

Obedience by independent means: one of Shockwave's favorite things about Cliffjumper.

"With your hands, please."

"What, you don't like this?"

"Cliffjumper," Shockwave says, and he earns - not a laugh, but something like a happy growl as Cliffjumper finally obeys, pressing a hand against the tip of his spike.

He shudders all over with renewed pleasure, flaring the ridges on his spike, enjoying the way Cliffjumper works his fingers under them and along sensitive nodes.

"You're less sensitive," Cliffjumper mutters.

"Ah - n. Yes. Same number of nodes. Keep _doing_ that."

"Kinky fragger," Cliffjumper mutters, and he grips just under the tip of Shockwave's spike and squeezes almost hard enough to dent, making Shockwave buck and nearly drop him.

If he's not careful he's going to overload before they're done, and ah - 

Shockwave carefully leans down, opening his mandibles and curling a thread of his glossae around Cliffjumper's horn.

"What - " Cliffjumper says, trying to turn his head to see. He's not allowed, not as Shockwave extends more threads, tying himself to Cliffjumper's horns and squeezing in rhythmic patterns. Coaxing flavor out of him, if he were prey - and in a different sense he responds, moaning suddenly as charge flickers against his oh-so-sensitive glossae.

Now Shockwave has him, and he carefully brings himself closer, rubbing his spike in smooth motions against his open valve and thighs, tasting charge and sharing it as he sends a burst of it out along his glossae.

A function meant for startling prey, and it works in different means, making Cliffjumper nearly seize in his grip, jerking forward, then back, and he doesn't shout somehow.

"What - _what are you doing!"_

"Pleasuring you," Shockwave says. "I like to share."

"No you _don't,_ you possessive glitch - "

"In this case," Shockwave says with a low purr. "I do."

He nips at Cliffjumper's horn, considers taking the tip of it. Cliffjumper's optics must be a beacon by now, and if not them the collar.

"Overload on me," he murmurs, judging their charge to be high enough. Cliffjumper responds beautifully to orders, when he's been primed for them.

Now Cliffjumper shouts, frame convulsing and arching as transfluid splatters over Shockwave's spike, guided by the grooves in his plating to collect in hidden resevoirs. He'll taste it later.

Shockwave slowly releases his horns, unwinding his glossae and turning Cliffjumper over when he's done, rubbing the tip of his spike up against his valve, nearly pushing in - but no, it won't fit.

"You should have modded yourself," Shockwave says as he thrusts between Cliffjumper's thighs. Cliffjumper's so _pliant_ now, overwhelmed and loose.

But he glares, then looks horrified, then glares some more as Shockwave briefly opens and closes his mandibles.

"I thought that was your _neck."_

Shockwave laughs as he overloads, the sound breathless as he leans in again, measuring Cliffjumper's horn with his entire glossa now. It will hurt most if he bites there, it will hurt least if he bites there, and he _does_ want Cliffjumper to return - 

The overload fades as he bites with purpose, taking a tip from Cliffjumper's horn.

_"Ow!"_

"A little mark to remember me by," Shockwave says, shifting so he can admire the mess he's made of Cliffjumper. "Shall I lick you clean?"

"You'd better," Cliffjumper growls, reaching up to gingerly probe his horn. "And you'd better hope no one notices!"

"They won't," Shockwave says in all confidence. Those who notice will wonder, and they'll make up amusing stories. None of them will put together the truth. He lifts Cliffjumper up, obediently licking him clean, probing glossae into his valve to be thorough - darting them back when Cliffjumper snaps his panels shut.

"Enough?"

"Set me down!"

Shockwave doesn't, turning him over, bracing him on the cuffs as he pushes his head towards his spike.

"My turn."

"Frag," Cliffjumper mutters, but he's so helpful, putting his adorably small glossae to use - it takes kliks before he's done to Shockwave's satisfaction, and he growls softly as he's finally set back in his seat behind the table.

"You'll want to drink less fuel before coming here in the future," Shockwave says. "In my true frame - "

"I got it, now shut up. Does Megatron have contact with anyone outside the prison?"

Shockwave spreads his claws.

"I am not a traitor."

It's perfectly reasonable, and he can see from the annoyed resignation in Cliffjumper's optics that he understands.

"Right."

He won't insult Shockwave by asking him useless questions, and Shockwave in turn won't play with him by giving him information that will waste his time. Not this time, at least.

Call it a reward for services rendered.

"I'm not coming again unless you're going to offer me something useful," Cliffjumper says, picking up his datapad.

Oh, is that how he wants it.

"Underground level 4-B, Sector Epsilon, behind the rectangular discoloration. You'll find something interesting."

Cliffjumper narrows his optics, but writes it down. "Anything else?"

"Ask me next time," Shockwave says. He waves his claws in a cheerful farewell, and moves to stand by the door.

"It won't be the same next time," Cliffjumper says, his attempt at a threat.

"I look forward to it," Shockwave says, looking at him. "Don't get deactivated before then, Cliffjumper."

Is that gratitude, affection, anger - ? It's hard to tell. Cliffjumper gives him a thin smile.

"I won't."


End file.
